The Light
by swifters
Summary: A Christmas Eve expedition to a small island on the trail of a murderer goes a bit wrong for Steve and Danny. Who would have thought! A return gift fic for Evil Cosmic Triplets.


**A return gift fic for the lovely Evil Cosmic Triplets. Rushed, imperfect and unbeta'd, but it's the thought that counts… right? Has the stuff you requested but the spooky bit kind of just slipped in there too. Couldn't help myself.**

 **Thievery going on all over the place in this. Medical info is from an episode of Magnum PI (so clearly it's entirely accurate) and a specific plot twist is borrowed from an early and fantastic episode of The X Files (prizes for spotting it! Hey, this could have been a Tribute!).**

 **I generally write bromance but, specially for ECT, those boys are extra close in this :) SLASH (don't like don't read! Tho blink and you'll miss it, having said that.)**

 **Mele Kalikimaka, ECT (and everyone else, for that matter)!**

 **DISCLAIMER- Not mine, none of it.**

THE LIGHT

"So? Is the launch still coming?" Danny hissed, irritation coming through loud and clear.

Steve hesitated, because no, the launch would not be coming back for them tonight as planned. Not that he had managed to contact them anyway. He gone to every corner of the maze-like concrete bunker they were in, then crossed from one side of the tiny island to the other without having found any cell reception, the atmospheric conditions having all gone to pot. But the boat scheduled to collect them wouldn't be coming- he knew that anyway.

There should have been ample time for them to get back to Oahu. They had plans after all- Christmas preparations, the kids' presents to wrap for when Rachel dropped them off at Steve's later tomorrow. Food to prepare. Beer to drink together. Their first Christmas 'together'. Danny would never, never forgive him if they didn't make it back by tomorrow.

But the storm had arrived well before forecast. The wind was howling and the sea was already wild. Steve had passed near the island's tiny pier on his travels and, some three hours before high tide, the waves were already rolling right up and across it, swamping the wooden platform as though trying to draw it down into the briny depths. The skipper of the launch wouldn't risk it and Steve knew that without having to ask- sea conditions were quite simply unsafe.

They would have to wait until morning and that was bad. They should still be home for Christmas, but they had bigger problems on the go than the prospect of being late for much-anticipated family festivities.

"Steve?" There was a plaintive note in Danny's voice and Steve cringed.

"I don't know. I couldn't raise them," Steve settled on as a reply. It was at least half of the truth of the situation. "We'll be fine. I got the generator going so we've got power, we've got light, we've got heat." He gestured at the electric heater he'd left Danny huddled in front of, sitting awkwardly with his shoulder and head pressed up against the wall. "We've got water, energy bars."

"Yeah. Awesome. Remind me to make you pack something that tastes less like ass next time you decide to drag me along on one of your ill-conceived expeditions." There was an uncharacteristic waver to Danny's voice that Steve tactically ignored. The silvery survival blanket Steve had wrapped around his partner crinkled as Danny moved uncomfortably.

Steve knelt down beside him, placed the back of his hand against Danny's forehead. He felt cool and clammy.

Danny grunted in annoyance, pushed him away.

"Hey, it was a good lead!" Steve protested automatically. "And I was right! We got him, didn't we?" He gestured over at the crumpled figure in the corner, the murderer they had been hunting. He wouldn't be bothering anyone again. Ever. They hadn't really expected to find him on the island, had thought the intel was too old to be valid, or they might have come in greater numbers.

Danny snorted in disgust, then squeezed his eyes shut and moaned long and loud.

Steve winced in sympathy. "How you doing, buddy?"

"How the hell d'ya think I'm going, genius?" Danny spat through gritted teeth.

"Hey, different people have different reactions to centipede bites. It's a legitimate question."

And that was the crux of their problem. Stranded on remote island for the duration of a storm…? Fine, they could handle that. Last minute Christmas preparations? Not a big deal really. A crazed murderer hiding out in a World War Two bunker? Not a problem. But a freaking centipede in a crack low in the wall of said bunker? They would most likely have never even known the thing was there if said murderer hadn't fleetingly got the better of Danny, caught him unawares and pinned him to the floor up against said crack in the wall, hands wrapped round his throat, squeezing tight.

By the time Danny, battling to stay conscious, had managed to draw his gun and put a new hole in the man's head, said centipede had already been disturbed and had thrust its forcipules through Danny's slacks into his thigh, cutting flesh and pumping venom.

Steve had come tearing into the room wide-eyed, alerted by Danny's shot and subsequent cry of agony, to find his partner pinned under their target's body and splattered with his blood and grey matter, flailing at his own leg and trying unsuccessfully to detach the foot-long monster.

Steve had dispatched the creature with a rock, hauled the large, deceased, man out of the way then proceeded to cut off Danny's slacks, ignoring his token protest.

The wound had looked fucking painful from the start; a fist-sized red swelling centered on the chevron-shaped incision.

Steve moved the survival blanket to check it out again now. The swelling had grown exponentially. Danny's whole thigh was puffy and the pain was blatantly intense. Danny turned and pressed his forehead against the cold concrete wall, eyes squeezed shut and teeth digging into his bottom lip as Steve laid the gentlest of hands near the injury.

Danny had already had what painkillers and anti-histamines they had in the first aid kit. It hadn't been enough. He needed something stronger but it looked like it wasn't going to be an option.

Centipede bites could be fatal, but only to the very young, very old or infirm. Danny was young and fit. He had no allergies. He should be okay given time. They should be able to ride it out, although the ride would not be pleasant. The worst of the symptoms- severe pain, headache and nausea, potentially anxiety and confusion- should last just a few hours with luck. Steve sighed deeply. This brush with Hawaii's native wildlife was hardly going to make Danny like the place any better.

Steve pushed two fingers against his partner's neck eliciting a shocked gasp from Danny. His pulse was racing.

Steve hesitated, unsure. He felt like he should be doing something. Something constructive. But he'd done what first aid he could, he'd got the generator going. Short of magicking up a satellite phone or a freaking helicopter, not that there would have been anywhere level enough to land a freaking helicopter on this barren, rocky excuse for an island, his pro-active options were limited to precisely zero.

Danny moaned again softly. Steve could virtually see the bravado, the attitude, melting out his partner as the excruciating pain ground him down and that made it clear what he needed to do. He shifted, sat against the wall beside Danny's hunched back. "Here," he said gently, easing an arm between Danny and the cold concrete wall. "Let me."

Danny sagged backwards, allowing Steve to manhandle him carefully until he was leaning against the taller man's chest. Steve wrapped his arms around him, pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head. "You're gonna be okay."

"Says you," came the indistinct mutter, muffled a little by Steve's shirt.

"Yeah, says me. Come on, try to sleep. You'll feel better in a few hours."

Danny seemed to try to do just that. Steve held him, murmured quietly to him, rocked him; and he didn't even protest at that which was a measure of how far gone he was. Steve was all too aware of the tremors that wracked his partner's body, his rapid breaths, the shivers and the sweat. Danny was suffering.

Steve tried to close his mind to it, just a bit. He had to stay alert, had to listen for any unexpected rescuers or unanticipated danger. He couldn't afford to let his emotions get in the way of protecting his stricken partner.

He tried to listen to the wind instead of Danny's soft moans. It shrieked around the walls of the bunker now, finding every chink in the building's defences and blasting unpredictable drafts, shifting long-forgotten papers and moving doors on unoiled hinges. The building sounded alive. The rain had started. It pounded mercilessly against the concrete roof. Steve shivered, pulled the survival blanket closer around Danny and tried to shift the angle of the heater with his foot. The thing barely seemed to be functioning, any heat radiated sucked away instantly by the shifting air. He wrapped his arms yet tighter around his shivering partner, bowed his head, kissed the back of his neck. He tasted like salt and fear.

Steve checked his watch. It was nearly midnight. It would be dark out now, although it was irrelevant in the windowless concrete structure. The storm was forecast to last seven hours. If that was still right it should blow itself out around 0500, just before daybreak. Hopefully they would be picked up shortly thereafter. For all logic told him Danny should be okay, he was worried as hell. The insect had been latched onto him for a minute. Maybe more. He'd had a good dose of venom. He should be in hospital, just in case he had a severe reaction.

Danny meant everything to him. Impossibly more than that, in fact, and the two of them had only recently begun to wake up to just how close they had gotten and explore what that might mean. He bent low again, drew in the familiar scent of the blond hair. Losing Danny now would be unsurvivable.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than the lights went out.

Steve froze, heart pounding. He listened to the empty sound of the furious elements for a long moment, then shook himself. The generator had stopped. It was as simple as that. He should have expected it, the equipment being so antiquated. The murderer they had come in search of must have done the generator up so he could live here in relative comfort or no way would Steve have been able to get it going at all.

Danny had to be sleeping. He was silent and Danny would not be silent in a dark, enclosed space like this if he knew anything about it. His claustrophobia would run riot even if he had been in good frame of mind to begin with.

Steve was loathe to leave him.

Then the howling wind must have found yet another route in or something, because the temperature plummeted. Steve realized with a start he could see his own breath. That settled it. The heater must have been having more of an impact than Steve had appreciated. He had to start the generator back up to keep Danny warm.

Steve let go of Danny with one hand, felt round in his pocket for his flashlight. He would leave it on beside Danny in case he woke up so he wouldn't be alone in the pitch black room. He switched it on, cast the beam over to Danny's TAC vest which was on the other side of the room where Steve had thrown it back when everything had turned to crap. Danny's own flashlight should be in the thing, in the designated pouch. They would have one each. That would work fine.

Both arms back around Danny, Steve began to manoeuvre him carefully so he could extricate himself from behind the stricken man.

Danny gasped, grabbed at his arms, held on tight with both hands. "S-Steve. No." He sounded breathless.

"Danny, it's okay. The generator's stopped, that's all. I've got to go start it up again, it's freaking freezing in here."

Danny breathed hard for a few seconds. "No." His whisper was harsh, frantic. "No, there's someone else here."

"What? There's no-one else here. You me and the dead guy, that's it."

"No. The man in the light, he told me," hissed Danny, then let out a fearful whimper that made Steve's stomach drop.

Shit. That was not good, not at all. Centipede venom could cause not just anxiety but, in extreme cases, hallucinations. Steve should have been prepared for this. He ran a hand across Danny's head. "Hey, take it easy. There's no one else here. It's just your injury messing with your head, yeah? I need to go so we get the lights and the heater back on, okay? I'll be quick, I promise."

Danny shook his head, hard. "No! The man in the light says 'no'!" he cried out, a panicked edge to his voice.

"Hey, hey, easy Danno, easy. There's no 'man in the light'. Unless… do you mean the dead guy." Steve cast the beam of the torch over to the body in the corner, suddenly wondering if it was spooking Danny in his fragile state.

"No!" Danny insisted. "No. The other man. He's _talking_ to me."

Steve tightened his grip on his partner. Danny was trembling from head to foot. "Okay. Okay, he's talking to you. Just take it easy. You're okay Danno, I've got you."

Danny shook his head. He began to whisper, low and frantic.

Steve dipped his head, strained to hear.

Danny was making no sense. "Stay away from the white cross. The man in the light says stay away from the white cross. He's waiting for you there! Your blood's on the white cross." He whispered the words over and over, punching them out vehemently as he shook with fear.

Steve held him tight, rocked him, murmured reassurance, at a loss as to how else to help him. Slowly, slowly, Danny quietened, the intensity draining out of him. His body went lax, his breathing evened out. Was he sleeping?

Steve laid him down gently and he didn't stir.

Steve had to go, he had to do it. If Danny was deteriorating further, Steve needed the light and the heater more than ever. Pulse racing, heart in his mouth, he pressed a lit flashlight into Danny's limp hand, grabbed the other from Danny's vest, and ran for the generator room.

His flashlight cast mad shadows as he hurried through the building. Dark looming shapes and distant noises made shivers run up and down his spine. He kept his focus. He had to get back to Danny, fast.

He rounded the corner into the long, straight corridor where the generator room was housed, last room at the end.

He froze. It was a trick of the light, it was as simple as that, but the beam of his flashlight had caught a section of collapsed scaffolding beside the door he was heading for and highlighted two beams of the tangled metal. It looked for all the world like a white cross. It was a co-incidence though, it couldn't possibly have any significance. It wasn't even a real cross, it was just a trick of the light.

He pushed on, but found he had slowed to a walk, increasingly uncertain in spite of himself. The beam of his light kept finding that one sweet point, over and over, showing him the illusion of the cross, over and over.

He ground to a halt, heart pounding.

It was stupid.

He switched off his flashlight. Listened.

Just suppose… just suppose there was someone else in the complex, someone who had evaded them somehow. What would he do if he were that person? Wait. Draw out the strangers. Take them unawares. Switch off the generator and lie in wait.

It was stupid and yet his adrenaline was ramping up and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. The temperature seemed to drop yet further. He shivered.

He cast his eyes up and down the corridor stretching out in front of him. Any number of doors went off from either side. There were many places to hide.

Steve felt round with his feet, found a chunk of concrete. He drew back his arm and launched it, threw it as far down the corridor as he could. He heard it bounce off one of the metal doors near the end.

He waited.

The long, slow squeak of a hinge in front of him had him drawing his weapon silently, eyes wide. He listened.

The soft fall of a hesitant footstep a short distance away. Another, moving towards the generator room.

Steeling his nerve, gun aimed in front of him, Steve flicked on his flashlight.

The dark figure turned sharply and Steve caught the glint of light shining on metal as he moved. A gun!

Steve fired without hesitation and the figure dropped.

He stood, breathing hard.

What the fuck?

Co-incidence, it was all co-incidence.

On auto-pilot, he moved to the fallen figure and kicked the gun away from his hand. He zip tied him fast, then realized he needn't have bothered when he shone his flashlight in the man's face. There was a round, black hole in his forehead like a grotesque third eye. Steve had killed him outright.

He blinked, looked at the man. He looked a lot like their murderer. A brother? They'd had no idea. There was absolutely nothing in the intel they had that suggested their perp had relatives, or that he was anything but a loner.

This second man really had been lying in wait. If it wasn't for Danny's delirious mutterings, Steve would have marched on by him unaware… He could have been shot from behind. His blood on the white cross…

But how could Danny possibly have known?

Steve played his flashlight back over the beams of scaffolding. He must have been at a different angle from before, because the illusion of the white cross didn't materialize no matter which way he moved the beam.

What the hell?

Unwilling to think any more, Steve made haste to the generator room and re-started the thing, then turned and ran back to Danny.

He felt like he was being watched the whole way, felt eyes in the back of his head.

Danny hadn't awoken again. Steve put his back to the far wall, facing the door. He picked Danny back up and put one arm around his shoulders, holding him close. He kept the other hand on his gun, eyes fixed on the door, waiting.

…..

Six hours later, there was a familiar shout from outside. The weather had broken. The launch had arrived.

Steve still held Danny close even as the launch bounced across the water bound for home. Danny was waking slowly. He seemed a little better. The pain and swelling were easing and he was calm and lucid, for all he seemed to remember nothing of the previous night. Steve would get him to hospital, get him checked out properly. With luck they should still be at Steve's in time for some hurried wrapping before the kids arrived. Dinner might be a touch late.

Steve kept his eyes fixed on the retreating shape of the bunker, silhouetted in the low morning sun. He frowned, squinted. Just for a second, he thought he could see a glowing light where the open door must be, but it disappeared just as fast.

He shook his head silently, because it couldn't have been real. He had shut the generator off, there couldn't have been a light.

Yet his eyes remained fixed in the same direction long after the island was out of sight.

THE END


End file.
